Prose

The dreams we hold in our deepest souls. Those are our secrets.  Those are our hopes. Our wishes. Our nightmares. They are our fantasies. They give us our will to live. They give us our foresight.  Our patience. Our desires. What a world have we created where our dreams are our nightmares? Where our wishes are our darkest fantasies played out into a reality so grotesque that no amount of words or number of pictures could give a vivid enough – horrid enough – explanation? This is a world of monsters. A world of frightened children and cruel masters. This is our world and we will not apologize.